


Unorthodox

by Nabielka



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/pseuds/Nabielka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know what gods do to mortals, and I would have none of it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unorthodox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emilyenrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyenrose/gifts).



> I hope you have a lovely yuletide.

“Gods protect me” Ariadne prayed, backing away, and seeing his surprise, added, “I know what gods do to mortals, and I would have none of it.”

Even as she spoke, she knew it would not work. After all, her own sister had met two gods, and neither encounter had ended well. 

“Are you are not afraid of me?” He sounded almost surprised; doubtless the god of wine was used to leading his victims willingly into madness.

“I am,” she admitted, and was glad that her voice did not shake.

“And yet you would dare defy me, and call upon mine own protection?” He was smiling now, and it softened his face, melted his dark eyes and blunted his cheek bones. It made him seem more approachable, almost human. 

But that way laid her doom, and if she could not protect her body, Ariadne would at least deny him her mind, for as long as it was in her power to do so.

“It is hope which Pandora preserved, and at least this way I have tried.” 

Dionysus only chuckled, and raised his hands in mock surrender, “I have never taken a woman against her will,” he protested. “And you will not be the first, I swear it.”

Despite herself, Ariadne found herself reassured by his words. “On the river Styx?” she asked hopefully, remembering the tales of her childhood.

He smiled brighter, and reached out for her hand. When she did not pull away he raised it to his lips and kissed the back. His lips were warm, and when he pulled away she could feel the spot tingle. 

To her horror, she found that she was blushing. 

“I do swear on the River Styx that I shall not harm you,” he said, still holding her hand in his. “Now, will you walk with me?” 

“I have a choice?”

“Of course,” he sounded amused. “Although I observe that there does not in fact appear to be much else for you to do here.”

She flushed at the reminder of her own foolishness, though he could not have known, and to distract herself, asked, “What is the punishment for breaking such an oath?”

He turned away from her to look at the sea from whence he had come, and seemed deep in thought. At last he spoke, and his voice was colder, “One would lie breathless and voiceless for a full mortal year, unable to taste of ambrosia or godly nectar. And after that year the god could not take part in either councils or feasts until a decade had passed.” Then he shook his head as if to clear it, and his tone turned lighter again, “and yet you knew that I must swear so?”

“I have heard so all my life,” she said, as they started to walk, the waves covering her feet, “yet none would tell me why.”

“Perhaps they did not know.” As they walked he would turn his head to look alternately ahead and at her, but his gaze never went below her neck and down her body to where Theseus’ had often lingered. 

“Perhaps they thought I was a girl and thus worth no account.” Even now, she could not keep the bitterness from her voice. Even Deucalion, as a child of five, had always been told more than she had.

“And yet they let you come here? And alone, if my sight does not deceive me.”

“They did not.” But he was right, for Theseus had left her without a single attendant, despite all his sweet promises, and she had not dared to bring her maid. 

And she found herself telling him everything, and as she did so Dionysus took her in his arms and held her close until she was crying into his chest. His hands moved soothingly across her back, and he seemed to listen. 

It was only when her tears had devolved into dry sobbing and she could not help shaking, that he pulled away. He laid a hand at where her neck met her torso, and she felt soothing warmth exude from his touch and spread throughout her body.

It calmed her down, and as she breathed in air frantically as though she had been drowning, he said, “I could make him pay.” 

“No!” Ariadne gasped out instinctually, and was instantly ashamed of herself. That a woman would still protect the man who had left her alone and helpless on an island was indefensible. The old Ariadne, the girl she had been before Theseus, would have thought it utterly ridiculous.

But he had spoken matter-of-factly, as if he were not talking about a man’s life, but merely musing about the weather. Then again, she reminded herself, he was a god. 

It had been surprisingly easy to forget, for he had been kinder to her than she would ever have dared imagine. 

She looked up at his face then, but she could not detect any contempt there. He was not much like the gods of her childhood, those angry judgemental beings, and Ariadne found herself relieved. 

Even worse, she found that she did not dislike him, even felt that he could perhaps be trusted. But then she had thought so before, about her father’s enemy, and it had not ended well. 

So she could not quite trust her judgement, especially when it came to another charming man who smiled at her as if he cared. And yet he listened, as if he truly cared, and no man had ever done that for her before. 

Dionysus did not press her, only said, “If you ever change your mind, the offer will stand.”

Ariadne could not think of anything to say to that, so instead, she said, “I did not think the gods would be like you.” 

“Do you find me a disappointment then?” Dionysus asked, and Ariadne hastened to assure him otherwise. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye, and the not quite restrained smile on his face.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said, blushing. 

He nodded, and was silent for a while. Finally he said, “I would say that most are not. They do not care for the feelings of mortals, whose lives are as fleeting as Kairos’ favour. But my mother was mortal, and I have never forgotten her fate.”

“Do you remember her?” A flash of pain crossed his handsome face, and Ariadne regretted her question. But he answered it all the same, unlike the men of Crete who would not reply unless the answer pleased or glorified them. 

“I have never met her, for she has dwelt with Hades my uncle since before my birth. And he does not oft keep company with the other gods.” 

“Since _before_?”

Dionysus laughed dryly, “Things are different for the gods, and those whom they would protect.” The look he gave her then seemed like a promise. But Ariadne did not quite dare trust it. 

“May I see you again?” he added, and she found herself nodding. He brushed her hair out of her face and smiled, gave her one last long lingering look before disappearing. 

Unlike when Theseus had left in the night, she found that she was not worried at all, not anymore. But her heart beat fast in her chest at the memory of his gentle touches and easy smiles, and she found herself looking forward to seeing him again.


End file.
